Homestuck: The novel
by carcinoGeneticists
Summary: I was bored and decided, hey why not turn Homestuck into a novel for the new year?


**A/N: Okay first chapter done.**

* * *

A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 13th of April, (I know it's not really April, but pretend okay?) is this young man's birthday. Though it was thirteen years ago he was given life, it is only today he will be given a name!

Now, what to name this young man?

Hmm, now we could give him a ridiculous name like Zoosmell Pooplord, but we're a little more dignified than that, so we'll call him John Egbert instead.

Okay so you're now John Egbert and as it was previously mentioned, today is your birthday. A number of _CAKES_ are scattered about your room. You have a variety of INTERESTS. You have a passion for _REALLY TERRIBLE MOVIES._ You like to program computers but you are_ NOT VERY GOOD AT IT_. You have a fondness for_ PARANORMAL LORE_, and are an aspiring _AMATEUR MAGICIAN_. You also like to play _GAMES_ sometimes.

Now that that brief introduction is over with, what to do next?

You go to retrieve your arms from your drawer, only there's one problem: They're in your_ MAGIC CHEST_, pooplord! You move the cake that is on the magic chest onto your bed and go and retrieve your fake arms from your magic chest. (Oh, you thought he was talking about actual arms? Oh no silly reader he already has those attached to his body~) Anyways, you _CAPTCHALOGUE_ them in your_ SYLLADEX,_ even though you have no idea what that actually means. There are other items in the chest,each one a devastating weapon in the hands of a _SKILLED MAGICIAN_ or a _CUNNING PRANKSTER_. You are neither of these things... There are as follows:_ TWO FAKE ARMS [CURRENTLY CAPTCHALOGUED IN YOUR SYLLADEX], ONE PAIR OF TRICK HANDCUFFS, ONE STUNT SWORD, ONE MAGICIAN'S HAT, ONE PAIR OF BEAGLE PUSS GLASSES, SEVERAL SMOKE PELLETS, SEVERAL BLOOD CAPSULES, and ONE COPY OF COLONEL SASSACRE'S DAUNTING TEXT OF MAGICAL FRIVOLITY AND PRACTICAL JAPERY, and ONE COPY OF HARRY ANDERSON'S "WISE GUY", BY MIKE CAVENEY._

Some of this stuff may come in handy at some point, but for now, you decide to just take the smoke pellets. You stow them on one of your_ CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS _in your_ SYLLADEX_. You still aren't totally sure what that means, but you are starting to get the hang of the vernacular at least. You have two empty _CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS_ remaining.

You decide to _EQUIP _your fake arms, although you aren't totally sure if _"EQUIP"_ is a verb copacetic with the abstract behavioral medium in which you dwell, but you give it a try anyway. Unfortunately, you cannot access the fake arms beccause their card is underneath the one you just used to captchalogue the smoke pellets. You will have to use the pellets first in order to access the arms. But this is probably unadvisable, since you'd just make your room lousy with smoke!

Your _SYLLADEX'S FETCH MODUS_ is currently dictated by the logic of a _STACK DATA STRUCTURE_. You were never all that great with data structures and you find the concept puzzling and mildly irritating. But with any hope, perhaps you will advance new, more practical _FETCH MODI_ for your _SYLLADEX_ with a little more experience.

You take a moment to examine your Problem Sleuth poster. Without a doubt this is one of your wisest purchases, I mean does it get more hard-boiled than that?

You look to your drawer and see a note there beside a rolled up poster. You pick up the note which is rich with the aromas of _FATHERLY AFTERSHAVES AND COLOGNES. _It simply reads: _HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON. I AM SO PROUD OF YOU. Y_ou captchalogue the poster along with a hammer and some nails so you can hang it up, however by doing this you push the fake arms from earlier out of your sylladex. Oh well. They're probably completely useless anyway. But you probably don't want to do that again, unless you want to drop the SMOKE PELLETS and suffer the consequences.

In any case, you now feel like you have gathered enough things to get down to business and do some really important stuff. The next thing you do will probably be exceptionally meaningful. Like, Squawk like an imbecile and shit on your desk... Ugh, what are you thinking?! That is the dumbest idea you've had in weeks! And yet the polished surface beckons you...

Anyways, you combine the hammer and nails so you can use them to nail your new poster to the wall next to the Problem Sleuth one. You take a step back to admire the new Con Air poster along with the Deep Impact poster nearby. Ah, Morgan Freeman's genteel, homespun mannerisms were perfect qualities for a president residing over a crisis. Films about impending apocalypse fascinate you. Plus, a black president? Now you've seen everything!

You look over at your calendar where you've marked your birthday, the 13th of April. Another day you marked was supposed to be the arrival date for the highly touted _SBURB BETA LAUNCH._ It's been three days already. It's starting to become a sore subject with you.

You'd eat some cake, except you are sick to death of cake! You've been eating it all day. And you have no intention of clogging your _SYLLADEX_ with it either. The_ CAKE_ stays put for now.

You hear a notice from your _COMPUTER _looks like someone is messaging you. You pull up to your _COMPUTER._ This is where you spend most of your time. You decorated your desktop with some rather handsome _WALLPAPER_ which you made yourself. You are really proud of it. Your desktop is also littered with various_ PROGRAMMING PROJECT FILES_. You are so bad at programming sometimes you wonder why you even bother with it. Your _PESTERCHUM_ application is flashing. Someone is trying to get in touch with you.

**- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:13 - **

**TG: hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today **  
**EB: i got a little monsters poster, it's so awesome. i'm going to watch it again today, the applejuice scene was so funny. **  
**TG: oh hell that is such a coincidence i just found an unopened container of apple juice in my closet it is like fucking christmas up in here **  
**EB: ok thats fine, but i just have one question and then a word of caution. have you ever seen a movie called little monsters starring howie mandel and fred savage? **  
**TG: but **  
**TG: the seal on the bottle is unbroken **  
**TG: are you suggesting someone put piss in my apple juice at the factory **  
**EB: all im saying is don't you think monster howie mandel has the power to do something as simple as reseal a bottle? **  
**EB: try using your brain numbnuts. **  
**TG: why did the fat kid or whoever drank it know what piss tasted like **  
**TG: i mean his reaction was nigh instantaneous **  
**EB: it was the 15th day in a row howie mandel peed in his juice. **  
**TG: ok i can accept that **  
**TG: monster B-list celebrity douchebags are cunning and persistent pranksters **  
**TG: also fred savage has a really punchable face **  
**TG: but who cares about this lets stop talking about it **  
**TG: did you get the beta yet **  
**EB: no. **  
**EB: did you? **  
**TG: man i got two copies already **  
**TG: but i dont care im not going to play it or anything the game sounds boring **  
**TG: did you see how it got slammed in game bro? **  
**EB: game bro is a joke and we both know it. **  
**TG: yeah **  
**TG: why dont you go check your mail maybe its there now **  
**EB: alright.**

You walk away from your computer for a moment to look out your window, where you can see your yard. Hanging from the tree is your _TIRE SWING_. In a kid's yard, a tree without a tire swing is like a proper gentleman without a monocle. That is to say, HE CAN HARDLY BE CONSIDERED A TERRIBLY PROPER GENTLEMAN AT ALL. And there beside your driveway is the mailbox. The little red arm-swingy-dealy thing or whatever it is called is flipped up! What the hell is that thing called anyway? Bah, you do not have time for these semantics. The red flippy-lever thing means you have new mail. And that means the beta might be here! You are about to hurry down stairs when you hear a car pull into the driveway. It looks like your _DAD_ has returned from the grocery store. Oh great. He is beating you to the mail. Whatever, you'll just check the mail later, cause if you go down stairs to get it now, he will likely monopolize hours of your time.

You decide to chill out up here for a while until the dust settles.  
Sometimes you feel like you are trapped in this room. Stuck, if you will, in a sense which possibly borders on the titular.  
And now your chum is pestering you again. The clockwork of friendship turns ceaselessly, operating the swing-lever dealies of harassment in perpetuity! Whatever. The dude can just hold his damn horses.

You decide read _COLONEL SASSACRE'S DAUNTING TEXT_ to consult with the Colonel's bottomless wisdom. Good grief this thing is huge. It could kill a cat if you dropped it.

But to really dig into this hefty book, you will have to captchalogue it. You are not sure you are ready to logjam your other _ARTIFACTS_ beneath it just yet. Ugh! In a momentary lapse of concentration, you accidentally captchalogue the arms again. You don't think the situation is quite dire enough to go all the way to _"RANCOROUS"_, but you still feel the_ PESTERCHUM_ client should reflect your mood change in some way._ "BULLY"_ will have to do. You guess. This unsurprisingly does nothing whatsoever.

Oh, right, you forgot your chum is still pestering you, so you answer him.

**TG: is it there **  
**TG: plz say yes **  
**TG: maybe you can play with TT shes been pestering me all day about it **  
**TG: shes mackin on me so hard all the time i start to feel embarrassed for her **  
**TG: i mean not that i can blame her or anything **  
**EB: yes, it is understandable because you are really attractive. i am attracted to you. **  
**TG: thank you **  
**EB: jk haha. **  
**EB: no, i don't have it yet. **  
**EB: my dad has the mail and i guess i have to go get it from him and see if it's there. **  
**EB: and i've been busy spending all afternoon shitting around with my stupid sylladex. **  
**EB: it's so frustrating. **  
**TG: whats your modus **  
**EB: what? **  
**TG: how do you retrieve artifacts from it **  
**EB: oh. like one at a time i guess. and if i put too much in, something falls out. **  
**TG: stack? hahahahahaha **  
**EB: what is yours? **  
**TG: hash map **  
**TG: my bro taught me a few tricks he basically knows everything and is awesome **  
**EB: what the hell is that? **  
**TG: you should probably brush up on your data structures **  
**EB: i guess. **  
**TG: did you at least allocate your strife specibus **  
**EB: no. **  
**TG: it could free up a card for you **  
**TG: plus let you attack stuff whenever things get too hot to handle **  
**TG: which is never **  
**TG: what have you got **  
**EB: well, i've got a hammer but it's trapped under some arms. **  
**TG: wow you really suck at this dont you **  
**TG: just get rid of the arms and then allocate the hammer to the specibus **  
**EB: how? **  
**TG: i dont know just use the arms on any old thing and see if it works**

You stick the fake arms in the cake on your bed. This definitely makes the cake at least 300% more hilarious. You're sure Colonel Sassacre would know the precise index of elevated hilarity. You the proceede to allocate your strife specibus the with the _HAMMERKIND ABSTRATUS. _The hammer has been moved from your CAPTCHALOGUE DECK to your STRIFE DECK. You then report your progress to TG.

**EB: ok, i did it.  
TG: hammerkind?  
EB: yeah.  
TG: ok that will be the permanent allocation for your specibus  
TG: i guess i should have mentioned that  
EB: uh...  
TG: hope you like hammers dude!  
EB: yeah, that's fine i guess. i can't imagine it's going to be all that relevant.**

You look over you Game Bro magazine before captchaloguing it along with the magic hat and begal puss glasses in your magic chest. You combine the hat and glasses and put the on as a disguise to fool your Dad. John? Who is this "John" you speak of? You are quite certain there has never been, nor ever will be... Yeah, this is a really shitty disguise. While you are wearing the items, they remain on the card, but it is temporarily removed from the deck, thus freeing up the cards beneath it.

You exit into the hallway. On one wall hangs a picture of a fella who sure knows how to have a laugh, a man after your own heart. You always thought he looked a lot like Michael Cera. But your Dad swears on the many hallowed tombs of Egypt that it is not. You're not sure about that though.  
On the other wall is one of your Dad's stupid clowns. Or Harlequins, as he is quick to correct anyone who would venture such brazen assumption.

As you walk down the stairs the accursed odor of fresh baking wafts into your newfound nostrils. Something is brewing in the kitchen. It must be the conniving's of your arch nemesis, Betty Crocker, and the rich, buttery aroma of her plot stinks to high heaven.

This mission is going to be more difficult than you imagined.

* * *

**A/N: Chapter one done, onto write the second one, if you want to help with this or if there's something you want me to change in the way I'm writing let me know.**


End file.
